Cheerleading at Its Finest
by AnimeMangaAngel
Summary: It's become a thing. This 'prove to the Twilight tweens of the world that werewolves are infinitely better' mission that Stiles has undertaken… Much to Derek's bemused affection (and Stiles' cunning prowess), it has indeed become a thing. Detailed warnings within; Sterek; only mentions Twilight fandom, no characters


**Title: Cheerleading at Its Finest**

**Rating: **T (16+) (M in standards)

**Tumblr request:**(no spaces) captain-snark. tumblr post/54786046017/need-fic-where-stiles-overhears-a -vampire-v

**Summary:** It's become a thing. This 'prove to the Twilight tweens of the world that werewolves are infinitely better' mission that Stiles has undertaken… Much to Derek's bemused affection (and Stiles' cunning prowess), it has indeed become a thing.

**Warnings: **Sterek, alluded intimate scene, language, unBeta'd, passing mention of necrophilia/beastiality (in the context of being the boy/girlfriend to a vampire/werewolf)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf. (I also really have no excuse for this fic... really I don't)

It's become a thing.

This 'prove to the Twilight tweens of the world that werewolves are infinitely better' mission that Stiles has undertaken… Much to Derek's bemused affection (and Stiles' cunning genius), it has indeed become a thing.

It all started with – well, if Stiles had to be honest, it started a few months after Scott got bitten. I mean, with a werewolf best friend, and as a human who officially runs with wolves, it's impossible to ignore the flotsam and jetsam of the Twilight fandom idiocy. Team **Vampire** versus Team **Werewolf.** Come on, people.

So at first, it had just been Stiles cautiously interjecting when he heard some pro-sparkle squeals. Just a quick, 'Hey, ladies, there are honest Team Jacob fans out there, too. Would you want _them _talking behind your back about _you?'_ and then (in spite of being generally impossible to embarrass on self-principle), Stiles would leave. Usually, the tiny tweens would spend a moment gawking at his 'rude' comment, but they were quick to forget about it and move on, too.

And then – when Stiles had been integral to defeating Deucalion – Derek had _finally _beenable to convince Stiles that he was Pack. Knowing that he was truly one with the werewolves that he befriended and protected (and who protected him in-turn) had been enough to convince him to up his game. After that, he was liable to hang around for a couple of minutes and debate the pros and cons of vampire versus werewolf. It mostly devolved into childish fights, when Stiles pulled out the 'you do _realize_ that the people you're idolizing are effectively zombies, right? Vampires, by definition, are undead creatures – people who have _died_.'

But that wasn't even the height of 'thingness', oh no.

Then Derek had to go and ask Stiles out.

The day the boy turned eighteen, Derek showed up at his window, and offered to take him out for coffee. The nice shirt, the shuffling, and the gruffness of the question all told Stiles that it was an attempt at romance – he accepted. Coffee became a ritual. The Pack began to defer to Stiles if Derek wasn't around (and sometimes if he was). They had their first-second-third-fifth-ninth kiss, and Stiles lost count, and still they were coming, still the intimacy was growing, still the closeness and trust was evolving. It was official. And because it was official – because Stiles had an up-close and personal introduction to being the full-fledged battle-mate, everyday-mate, bed-mate of a werewolf – Stiles made it his duty to defend his Pack, his 'pups', his boyfriend (mate), from the hormone-neewbie tweens of the sparkle-hoard.

They went out once a week to the local coffee place (a tribute to the first date), and Stiles would inevitably find a Twilight conversation (because that crowd seemed to gather at this particular shop like flies to honey), and he would engage in the honed art of what he liked to fondly call Team Warfare. It always happened while Derek was getting their drinks – because Stiles liked to defend Derek when Derek couldn't do it for himself, and because Derek liked to let Stiles think that he was doing something of importance (he had less chance of actually getting in real trouble that way) – and it always went the same way.

This particular coffee-scented afternoon found Stiles overhearing something a bit stronger than his usual tween-debate fare: This couple were actual teenagers, two young women his own age as opposed to the thirteen-fourteen crowd he usually 'battled' with (in Beacon Hills, anyway; he was way too aware of the fact that they had an older fanbase, too). The brunette on the right had caught his Team-seeking ear in a unique way, as she sighed, "God, I can just imagine it, Lisa. Forever young, randy, ready! Who the hell can stand werewolves, in the face of that? Ew. Vampires are just… immortal for real, for one – no, 'oh, I age if I don't change for a couple of months' crap. And they're inherently sexier for another – _meant _to attract humans."

Her red-headed companion, Lisa, nodded vigorously as Stiles approached, replying to her friend with a fervent, "I know, right? And hello, vampires? Don't even get me _started_ on the levels of biting kink just on the surface of that, geeze!"

Stiles' eyebrow twitched, and he really couldn't help himself after that. He knew he was maybe being just a little abrupt – a little rude – but he sidled up to their table anyway, and smiled widely at them. "Hi there! Yeah, I couldn't help but overhear how _terribly_ misinformed you are."

They sat still, staring at him in shock, and the brunette's mouth opened and closed like a fish. All at once, her eyes hardened in resolve, and she took a deep breath to begin… what, reaming him out? He didn't give her a chance, instead charging right in with his original tried-and-true argument. His grin felt a bit more sharklike, and he knew he was holding himself with an air of superiority, but he couldn't help it. "And I really don't want to butt in, except ignorance of this level just can't be ignored. Because really? Vampires are reanimated corpses, you feel that right? Like they _died_. Buried six feet down _died _and really… they're basically well behaved zombies."

Once again, he'd reduced them to gaping like fish. Lisa looked like she might burst into tears of confusion and frustration. He might have felt bad, had they been younger, but… they'd been discussing sex. If they were old enough to contemplate necrophilia without flinching, he could lay his cards on the table without remorse – especially with what the end result would (always) be.

"Yeah, and so werewolves? Do you lack such imagination that you can't possibly fathom what kind of things you can do with a boyfriend with super strength? I mean the stamina alone is… phew."

For a second, he spaced out, his mind racing with images of experience – being lifted up to the kitchen table, wrapping his legs around strong hips to be carried, pressed firmly against the shower wall, the bed in all kinds of disarray… Strength and stamina _definitely_ a plus. He blinked and gave his head a small shake, and realized that Derek had made his way over in the meantime. He offered Stiles the younger man's usual, and his grin was small, private, wry. His grey-green eyes flickered over the table and the girls, then back to Stiles, and his face said it all for him, _Wow, Stiles. Really? Again?_

Stiles grinned, unrepentant, and shrugged. What was Derek going to do? It was a thing. His smirk grew a bit devilish, and while his comment was directed at the floored girls, his eyes never actually left Derek's own. "Yea, and I'm pretty sure getting bit by a vampire is less 'ooh sexy hickey making' and more like 'okay wow, getting a little light headed here, I'm not a 7-11'. But _werewolves, _I mean I'm not into bestiality or anything but—"

Stiles was used to being interrupted. It was a side-effect of being Stiles. He was especially used to being interrupted by Derek, though, since he became a recognize Pack member. It was in testament to this common event that, when Derek – shielded from the girls' view by Stiles' own body – growled softly, eyes flashing a momentary possessive ruby, and flung Stiles over his shoulder, Stiles didn't even squeak. The hard shoulder beneath his stomach knocked the air out of his lungs, and his coffee was nearly left on the table, but he didn't squeak.

As Derek whirled around and marched out of the coffee bar, Stiles – still hanging limply over Derek's shoulder, a possessive hand placed none-too-subtly over his jean-clad ass – grinned cheekily at the girls, waved jauntily, and called, "Thanks for that chance; my boyfriend loves it when I get all… geeky."

Hey, it was the truth – Derek did love his geeky side. He just happened to… _love_ the thoughts that these debates brought on in a rather different way, too. And that was why Stiles' Team Warfare thing was absolute cunning genius. Weekly genius, thank you very much.


End file.
